The Untimely Death Of George Mason
by Mandi5
Summary: This is how that red hot love machine, George should have died. Round about oh, let's say season 15! Final chapter is now up. Please R&R. Warning! Contains a very minor spoiler for S4 - mention of a name and a hair colour. That's all.
1. Default Chapter

The Untimely Death Of George Mason – A Red Hot Love Machine.  
By Mandi.

George wakened slowly, a smile creeping over his face as he yawned and stretched and remembered their love-making last night. All night to be exact. She had been an animal, insatiable in her desire and he grinned with pride at the fact that, despite his age, he had kept up with her. Of course the Viagra helped. A lot.

Three times, he thought with a self-satisfied smirk. Not bad for a man of seventy-three. I'm still the red hot love machine I've always been. Boy, am I good or what?

Just then the door opened and the object of his affection walked in, carrying a mug of coffee. It was her husband's old Cubs mug. She smiled sweetly and sat down beside him on the bed, handing the mug to him. He noticed with more than a little disappointment that she was showered, dressed and ready for work. He wouldn't have minded giving her one more for the road.

As though she could read his mind, she smiled. "Sorry. I'd love to climb back in under the covers with you but I have a lot of work to do today." She tucked a curl behind her ear. There was grey in her hair but she still was the same beauty he'd met and fallen for over twenty years ago.

"I'll call you tonight and let you know what time I'll be finished work."

"Make it early."

"I'll try," she said. "But I can't promise anything. You know how it is."

George did. He'd been director of CTU himself up until his retirement. Now she had his old job and while he was proud of her, he hated the long hours spent apart from her.

She kissed him again – a long, lingering kiss that promised more to come, then with a sad smile she looked into his eyes.

"What?" He touched her cheek.

"My husband is getting parole this week."

"And?"

"I dunno. It might be difficult for us to spend so much time together – once he comes home."

George frowned. "I thought we'd been over this."  
"I know, but it's difficult. I want you. God knows I want you, but. . . ."

He stopped her with a kiss. "It'll be fine. Now go. Be a director for the day and then come back to me tonight."

After she left he sipped thoughtfully at his coffee. With her husband out of prison it would be difficult, but nothing they couldn't work out. Meanwhile he had someone else on his mind. Someone who would be calling to see him in a little over an hour, he realised as he glanced at his watch.

He put all thoughts of Michelle out of his head and quickly climbed out of bed. Naked, he headed towards the shower already imagining a delightful morning in the arms of that blonde beauty Kate. Bauer's wife.

George hummed happily as he showered and then shaved. God, it was good to be alive and at his age having two beautiful, sexy women at his beck and call. For the zillionth time he was thankful he had brought along a second parachute all those years ago.

He wrapped a towel around himself and went back into the bedroom as the doorbell rang.

"I'm in here waiting for you, darling," he yelled, threw the towel onto the floor and stretched out on the bed waiting for her to enter and leap on him with all the animal passion he knew he instilled in women. They just couldn't get enough of him. He wondered if he could maybe persuade them to consider a threesome some night. He grinned at the images that thought inspired. . . . .

George was happily lost in his fantasy of him and Kate and Michelle when the door burst open.

Jack Bauer and Tony Almedia stood in front of him and grimaced in disgust at him lying naked on the bed. Both were carrying.

"THEY'RE OUR WIVES, YOU SONFABITCH!" They yelled in unison.

The two men raised their weapons and fired.

George gasped and almost died of a heart attack, and at his age who could blame him, but the rounds struck his chest and it was the gunshots that killed him in the end.

Mandi


	2. Ch 2 Twenty three Years Earlier

Chapter 2.

Twenty-three years earlier.

George was feeling a heck of a lot better and was deeply regretting his suicidal decision to fly the plane into the desert. If he hadn't been so busy with the controls he'd be kicking himself right about this time. Especially after the cellphone call he'd just received.

"Uh – sorry about the mistake with the radiation readings George," the doctor had said. "It seems you're gonna be just fine. Okay you're probably sterile but you're not gonna die. Hope I didn't mess up your day too much. Bye."

This had been about thirty seconds after Jack had bailed out, taking the parachute – his freakin' parachute - with him. George felt like crying. In fact he did cry, and the tears streamed down his face as he tried to figure a way out of this, the worst predicament of his life.

Okay, all I gotta do is turn the plane around and head back to LA.

He checked the fuel. Damn! Almost empty. And even if he could head back the bomb was still ticking away. He was too close, and it was probably too heavy to open the door and throw the thing out.

Ah Bingo! There was bound to be another parachute somewhere on board. It was standard equipment. Wasn't it? Please God let there be another parachute.

He checked that the autopilot was still on, checked the time on the LED, glared angrily at the bomb in the back of the plane, and carefully climbed over the seat, the very same seat that Bauer had sat in a while back asking him if he was really sure he wanted to do this.

"Jack. I'm supposed to do this." He had said, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut, or better yet, told Jack he was sorry it had come to this, and hey, at least you'll be with Teri again, and it's been real nice working with you and I'll make sure you're recognized as the hero everybody knows you are, and that Kim will get your pension and death benefits.

Yeah, he shoulda just said that to Jack then quickly grabbed the 'chute and exited the plane leaving Jack to go down in flames.

But no, he had to be the big hero. He wanted to go out in a blaze of glory that would far outshine Bauer's best moments. He was dying anyway, wasn't he?

Apparently not, it seemed. The sores would clear up, and he would stop puking and even his hair would grow back, provided he could just figure out a way to get off this plane before it lit up the desert sky for miles around like the biggest July 4th/George Mason Memorial firework display ever.

He chucked stuff around the cramped interior of the tiny Cessna, frantically searching until he found it. Thank God. He'd never seen anything so beautiful before. He felt like making love to it.

Instead, he pulled it on, opened the door, gave the bomb the bird and leapt out into the desert night.


	3. Ch 3 Three Weeks After The Bomb Exploded

Chapter 3 - Three weeks after the bomb exploded.

George was still in the hospital in the little desert town of Godknowswhereville, and his ankle was still sore. He lay back in bed, adjusted the aforementioned and plaster encased ankle a couple of inches to the right and into a more comfortable position, and just marveled at whatever it was that had saved him. A miracle? Possibly. An Act of God? Maybe. A stroke of bloody good luck? Most likely.

As soon as he'd bailed out of the plane and pulled the ripcord to open the 'chute he realized that he'd jumped too late. He was gonna land in what would very shortly be forever designated the "glassy plain where he died" and nothing was going to change that.

"Oh fu–" George started to curse aloud and then it happened. A sharp gust of wind caught the silk canopy and a wonderfully beautiful, magical, and very, very convenient combination of aerodynamics and acceleration whisked him high up into the sky where the cold night air eased the burns on his face and hands - momentarily causing him to worry about frost-bite - before it carried him far across the desert and well out of the lethal blast zone.

"Spectacular!" George whistled as he looked over his shoulder and watched the bomb detonate. "Die you sonfabitch! Die."

Of course he had to spoil the moment by not paying attention when he was landing and when he heard the crack he knew his ankle was broken.

"This day can't possibly get any worse," he mumbled as he unhooked the harness and hobbled painfully to the nearby roadside tavern where he first of all ordered a double brandy, figuring he deserved it, drank it down in one thirsty gulp, then limped out to the restroom for a much-needed pee before calling 911 for an ambulance.

That was three weeks ago. His ankle was slowly healing and it was time to get his life back. First a few phone calls.

He dialed his son's number. No-one home. He waited impatiently for the beep.

"John. It's your father. No. Don't run off screaming. I'm not calling from beyond the grave. I'm alive and well and I want my money back. And don't think for one minute that you can get away with it because I've already frozen the rest of the account and as soon as you get back from your luxury cruise or whatever, we can talk about how you're gonna pay back the twenty grand you've already spent..." he paused. "Talk to you real soon son," he added menacingly.

Then he tried to call CTU again. Dessler answered.

"Hey, it's me," he said.

"Hey you," Michelle purred sexily, smiling up at Tony in his office.

"No, it's me. George. Don't hang up again. I need you to do me a favour. I need you to. . ."

"I don't know who you are, you sick bastard, but if you think that this is funny wait 'til you see what happens when I get my hands on you." Michelle started to trace the call.

"No. No. Michelle. It's really me. Please don't hang up again."

"Prove it then," she said. Anything to keep him on long enough to trace the call and get the sicko arrested and locked up for a long, long time.

George racked his brains. "Remember before I left CTU and you were in my office and I was telling you all that stuff about wanting to be a teacher but the DOD was paying better rates?"

"Go on," Michelle frowned.

"And then I put my arm around you as we walked to the door and I said something about how you should find something that makes you happy and then I mumbled something about everything else being background noise. Remember?"

"Uh – yeah. I remember some of it." Either it really was George or someone had been bugging his office.

"And then just before you left the office I put my hand on your bum and gave it a squeeze and you turned to me and said – 'If you weren't already dying Mr. Mason, I'd kill you for doing that.' Remember?"

Michelle coughed. "Uh – well, you shouldn't have done it."

"Yeah, I know. But you gave me a sexy smile, didn't you?"

"That was pity, Mr. Mason."

"Oh." George felt the wind go out of his sails.

"Okay. So I'm convinced you are who you say you are," Michelle kept her voice low. "What is it you want from me? And how the heck did you survive the nuclear bomb and the radiation poisoning?"

"I'm stuck in a hospital in a little town out in the desert. If I give you the co-ordinates could you please come and get me?"

"Okay. It'll take me a few hours to get there," Michelle sighed. She would have to break her date tonight. She prayed Tony would understand, but it was doubtful he would.

The funny thing about the radiation he'd been exposed to was that it had changed him – sort of like what happens to the heroes in all the comic books. Except George didn't get x-ray vision or super-strength, nor did he start wearing his boxers over the top of his trousers – thankfully - but he was definitely different.

He'd turned into a red hot love machine. Or at least a potential one. Every woman he met was beautiful and he wanted her. His libido had increased twenty-fold; he was hot under the collar and raring to go. The lesions were healed. His hair had grown back, although he still kept it short, and he still had the blue eyes and that deliciously scruffy stubble. He was ready and more than willing to rock and roll, baby!

All he had to do now was convince the female population that he was exactly what they'd secretly wanted all their lives.

So, while he was waiting for Michelle, George hit on a couple of the nurses but failed miserably to score. Undaunted, he then tried his luck with the doctor when she came into check his cast.

"Wanna go get a bite to eat tonight?" he leered.

"Sure," she smiled brightly. "I'm not doing anything this evening. My soon-to-be-ex husband and a couple of his buddies went hiking in the desert about three weeks ago and I haven't heard from him since so I'm free."

George kept his face completely expressionless, knowing that the poor sod was probably her late husband now.

He left the doctor with some considerable effort. She'd even threatened to break his other leg, anything to keep him with her and in her bed a while longer.

"I'll call you. I promise." George said as he limped out her front door and climbed into Michelle's car and settled in for the long drive back to LA.

To be continued.


	4. Ch 4 The Long Road Home

Chapter 4 – The Long Road Home.

"Nice car," he said, trying to break the silence.

"Thank you." Michelle replied, refusing to break the silence.

A few more miles without a word went by and George sighed. Judging by Michelle's tight-lipped, overt hostility his return was going to be harder than he'd realized. But then she was usually tight-lipped and hostile in his company. He stared out the window at the road as it sped past him and sighed again.

"We had a lovely funeral service for you," she finally spoke.

"You did?" That cheered him up. "I bet there were thousands there."

"Um – no. I wouldn't put the figure as high as that."

"How many?"

"Well, there was me and Tony. Chappy, of course. Hammond showed his face briefly. And Jack. No, wait. Now that I think of it Jack couldn't make it. He was busy with Chase."

"Chase? Don't tell me be bought a Labrador."

"Uh – no. Chase is the FNG," Michelle explained.

"Chase!" George snorted. "What kind of a name is that?"

"Nina sent flowers," she told him.

"She did? My sweet Nina," George smiled and earned a scowl from Michelle.

"We tried to trace her whereabouts through the florists but she'd covered her tracks – used an Internet company and a fake credit card to buy them - and so far we haven't been able to pick her up again."

That figures, George thought, then the pair of them lapsed into silence for a few more miles.

"Wanna stop and get some breakfast?" George asked.

"No." Michelle glanced at the clock on the dashboard and shook her head. It was almost five in the morning. If they made good speed she would have time to call at Tony's and give him a nice breakfast-in-bed treat that in no way involved food and would more than make up for breaking their date last night.

George leaned his head back and slept the rest of the way home.

Michelle dropped him outside his house, practically throwing him out of the car. She took off without a word, just a loud squeal of tyres. He shrugged his shoulders – he'd say thanks later – and went indoors. Both his plants were still alive. He watered them and made coffee. A quick shower. A change of clothes and then back into work. As though the nuke, his death and the last three weeks hadn't happened. Yeah, right.

Tony went as white as a sheet and almost fell out of his chair when George limped into the office with a big grin on his face.

"Hey. You look like you've just seen a ghost."

"Have I? I mean, do I? I mean. . ."

"Doesn't matter," George cut him off. "So what's been happening since I been away?"

Tony opened and closed his mouth few times – totally lost for words. He fiddled with the keyboard, scratched the side of his face, rubbed his forehead and looked anywhere but at the face of the man standing in front of him. George was loving every uncomfortable moment.

"I – uh – um – we – I – ah – we," he rubbed his forehead again then stared moodily at the screen for a moment. "We got the place fixed up. Carrie's gone back to Division – and – I – uh – I mean – we - ah shit George! How the hell did you survive?"

"Spare 'chute." George explained casually.

Tony got a hold of himself. "It's real good to see you again. Nice of you to call in and say hi and everything, but as you can see, I'm kinda busy right now."

"Call in? I don't get you Tony. Whaddya mean – call in?" George narrowed his eyes. He was having a ball watching Tony squirm.

"Um – just calling in like this. Out of the blue."

"It's my office," George quickly grew tired of playing with him. "Thanks for taking care of things for me. Now, if you'll just give me the disk back I can get on with my work."

"Disk?" Tony squeaked.

George looked at him as though he was an idiot. "Yeah, the disk with the CTU and Division access codes."

"You can't have that George! Only the CTU Director is allowed that kind of access!" Tony's voice was still squeaky with panic.

George nodded wisely. "I'm the CTU Director, Tony."

Tony was out of his seat in a flash. George frowned and raised his crutch slightly in warning. Tony stopped moving.

"You can't demote me George. Only Chappelle can do that."

"Wrong, sunshine. I can and I just did. Now get outta my office."

Tony fought bravely. "Do you know what I've accomplished here in the last three weeks?"

"I don't, and to be truthful I really don't care."

George, surprisingly quick for someone with a bad leg, was round the table and onto the chair before Tony realized what had happened. George lifted the trash can and swept Tony's pen and cellphone off the desk and into it. He then lifted Tony's Cubs mug, drained the last of the coffee from it, and dropped it into the trash along with the rest of the stuff still on the desk.

Tony when white again and grabbed the trash can from George and retrieved the mug. Intact. He breathed a sigh of relief. He glared at George and went red with rage.

"Do you know it took me three days just to clean this place, George?" he yelled. "There were half-eaten sandwiches, empty water bottles, empty anti-nausea pill bottles and bloodied bandages everywhere!"

George shrugged his shoulders. "And you're telling me this why?"

"Because you're a real pig, George. That's why! I'm still picking tufts of your hair outta the keyboard!"

"Then go back downstairs and use your own goddamn keyboard," George told him reasonably.

"I'll get you for this George," Tony headed to the door, clutching his mug tightly to his breast. "So help me, some day I'll get you for this!"

"Don't let the door hit you on your way out," George called after him.

To be continued.


	5. Chapter 5 The following took place a co...

Ch 5 – The following took place a couple of months prior to Day 3.

It was late, he was tired and all he wanted was a large brandy and a good night's sleep. He yawned as he put the front door key in the lock.

A figure loomed out of the shadows.

Startled, George went for his gun, but before he could draw it the figure stepped closer and a mouth found his mouth, two lips locked onto his lips and a tongue probed for his tongue.

"Mmmmm," George decided the brandy and the night's sleep could wait.

"Promise you won't arrest me?"

"I won't. But only if we can take turns with my handcuffs," he replied.

"Mmmmm," the lips met his again.

A sudden thought crossed George's mind. "You're not gonna kill me, are you?"

She first lowered then raised her eyes. They glittered in the moonlight like the blades of a knife as she looked up into his. "In France it's known as the 'little death'."

"Well, I can live with that," George said.

-------

The stillness of the night was fractured only by Nina's screams and the yowling of a nearby cat in response. A couple of times George worried that his neighbors might call the cops and prayed they were heavy sleepers and the cops were busy.

"Ohhhh, George," she cried.

"Am I better that Jack?" he asked her.

"God. Yes!" she told him.

"Better than Tony?"

"Oh God. Yesss! You're almost as good as Chappy."

George came up for air. "I would have preferred not to know that!"

Breathless, Nina gasped. "Oh God, George! If I'd known you were this good I would never have become a mole!"

Back then I probably wasn't this good, George thought.

-------

"My turn on top!" Nina said as she deftly handcuffed him to the bedrail. George felt a sharp tingle of fear run up his spine and his heart lurched as he remembered again how many people she had killed. He felt the cuffs biting into his wrists and the uncomfortable position his arms were in and his heart lurched a second time as he remembered a Stephen King novel he'd read years ago.

But all thoughts of de-gloving slipped from his mind as Nina's mouth left a trail of wet kisses across his chest and her fingers waltzed over his ribcage, dancing ever downwards.

"Ohhhh, Nina," he moaned. He didn't care if she did kill him. He would die a very happy man.

-------

A couple of hours and several 'little deaths' later, Nina staggered from the bedroom and made her way into the kitchen. Her hands shook as she poured brandy into two glasses and returned to the scene of destruction in the bedroom where she un-cuffed George and handed him his drink, climbed back into bed and took a mouthful from her own glass.

It did briefly cross his mind, as he rubbed his aching wrists, how well she knew her way around his house.

But, what the hell? He smiled at her as they clinked their glasses together in a silent toast.

-------

George wakened late and reached out for Nina but her side of the bed was empty. She was gone and he missed her already.

He could have convinced himself it had been a dream, and he very nearly managed it, but the pain in his wrists and the weakness in his knees and his utter exhaustion told him otherwise. That, and the note she had left lying on her pillow.

You were wonderful George. What a life  
we could have had together. I think I might  
even have loved you. I think I do, a little.  
XX  
Nina.

"I love you too, Nina."

He wondered if he would ever see her again, then called in sick and went back to bed and slept for the rest of the day.

-------

To be continued.


	6. Chapter 6 Day 3, or what was left of it

Chapter 6 – Day 3 or what was left of it.

George came back from a week's vacation in Honolulu to find his answering machine light flashing in panic mode.

Eight of the seventeen messages were from Brad Hammond's wife – missing him, asking him to call her. The rest were from Brad, and George's heart skipped a beat at the thought that maybe Hammond was on to him.

But no, Hammond was calling to fill him in on the day's events. George let out a long sigh of relief then sat down to listen to what Brad had to say.

"Tony's been shot," Brad said. "As soon as you get in call me."

Yeah, okay Brad. He'd call after he listened to the rest of his messages.

"Jack started a prison riot and broke Ramon Salazar out," Brad's next message told him.

George stared at the machine. Okay. So Jack was up to his tricks again. It probably made some sort of twisted sense to the man.

"Gael's a mole," Brad said. "I need you to call me as soon as you get in."

Who? George frowned. Oh yeah. Gael was the one with the funny hair style. First day he'd met the guy George had come within inches of putting a massive dent in his reputation as a chick magnet when he'd seen the 'do and thought the name was Gayle and almost snuck up behind her/him and put his arm around him/her and asked him/her to dinner. Whoa! Close one!

Hey! I'm already sleeping with one mole Brad, you sort this out yourself!

"Tony's gonna be fine and Gael's not a mole," Brad told him in the next message.

Wha? Okay, someone's been lacing the coffee again and Brad is tripping out.

"Chloe has a baby. Do you know anything about it?" Brad asked.

"Not me!" George spluttered aloud. "You can't pin this on me. I got irradiated, remember? Firing blanks now!"

"Jack's a junkie," Brad told him. "Call me when you get in."

Ahhhh, George nodded thoughtfully. The last few years working with Jack made a whole lot more sense now.

-----

George stopped the tape and made coffee then settled down to listen to the rest of his messages. It was better than the television.

"Nina's dead," Brad said. "Call me when you get in."

What? Nina dead? This can't be true! George felt the tears welling up. Not my sweet, sexy, kinky killer, Nina. God, I'm gonna miss her. He remembered how she loved to tie him up and how she went helpless with giggles when he tickled her ribs, and the dangerous look that came into her eyes when he casually asked her what she was up to and where did she get the money for all those designer clothes she showed up in. Yeah, okay Nina. Sorry. Sometimes I forget you're a terrorist.

George wiped the tears from his eyes and hit the next message wondering how many more would be dead before he got to the end of the tape. Hopefully Chloe would be one of them.

"Ryan's dead," Brad told him. "Call me when you get in."

Ah gee, poor Chappy, George shook his head sadly. I wonder what happened to him. Even though they're divorced now, and a lot of that's my fault, I'd better call Vicky and tell her how sorry I am.

"Jack cut off Chase's arm," Brad's voice held a hint of humour. "Call me when you get in."

George snorted aloud with laughter. Only Jack would do something like – cut of the hand that's feeling his daughter. Oh, this was a gem! I hope he used something more humane than a hacksaw.

"Almedia's been arrested," Brad informed him. "Call me when you get in."

What? What the hell could they possibly arrest Tony for? George frowned. Staring moodily over the top of his computer screen? Drinking coffee with intent? Stealing paperclips? This was weird.

There were a few more messages from Brad – something about the Chandler Plaza hotel, hundreds dead, and a virus, and a warning to get his ass in early in the morning. Then a moment or two of silence and Brad said, "Oh, I almost forgot George, the wife told me to invite you over for dinner some night next week. Thursday is good for me. I didn't know you knew her."

Uh – oh. George swallowed hard. He could hear the suspicion in Brad's voice, and he hoped Brad wasn't remembering just why Ryan and Vicky Chappelle got divorced.

-----

He deleted all the messages and was just getting comfortable on the couch when the doorbell rang.

"Great," he snarled.

He opened the door and saw her standing there with her pale tear-stained face, her hair a mess, her clothes dirty and disheveled.

To be continued.


	7. Chapter 7 True Love Kinda

Chapter 7 – True Love. Kinda.

"Can I come in?" she asked as the tears began to fall again.

George frowned. "Uh – yeah. Are you sure?"

"I've nowhere else to go," she explained.

He stepped back and allowed her walk past him. All the while watching her carefully. She stood in the middle of the floor not knowing what to do next and waiting for a prompt. George closed the door and stood beside her. He touched her arm gently and she jumped as though stung.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I – he – there was – he's gone. Can I stay here tonight? With you? I can't go home to an empty house. To an empty bed."

George let out a long slow whistle. I mean, come on – then he realized how distressed she was and that this probably wasn't a good idea, so he regretfully put the thought he was having back where it belonged and zippered it up out of harm's way.

Inside, in the light, he could see her properly now and he was shocked by her appearance. There was dried blood on her face. Her clothes – nice tight pants and a leather jacket, he couldn't help but notice – were dirty and scuffed, her hair was falling down, and her face was streaked with dried tears, smudged mascara around her eyes and on her cheeks and fresh tears spilling over and sending more mascara southwards.

But it was her eyes that he noticed the most. Haunted. Lost. And most worrying of all – angry. There was a deep, cold, ready-to-explode anger simmering there in her eyes, on her face and in the grim set of her mouth.

A woman scorned, came to mind first, but he knew it wasn't that. This was more the look of a woman who has lost something important to her and is going to kill everyone in her path until she either gets it back, or she puts the gun down and feels a whole lot better.

She was also half drunk - he could smell it on her breath - and this surprised him – he didn't think she even touched the stuff.

He'd never seen her in this state and he didn't know what to do about it. Well, apart from the obvious but even he knew better than to try it on right now.

"Hey... come on..."

"I'm sorry," she said.

Sorry for what? George wondered.

"I shouldn't have come here but... I'd nowhere else to go and I couldn't – can't - go home."

She began to cry again and as the tears fell George put out his hand to her. In an instant she was in his arms and her head was on his chest, and her tears were soaking through his shirt and suddenly he was thinking all kinds of thoughts that he knew he shouldn't be thinking and he was more lost than she was.

His arms went around her and for ages both of them stood there - neither of them knowing what to do.

"I'm sorry," she said again.

"Look, I heard what happened," George said. "Well, some of it... and I can understand how upset you are, but you shouldn't worry. It'll be okay."

Uh – oh. The angry look was back. Obviously it wouldn't be okay. George changed the subject.

"Look – um – maybe you should – you know, you look terrible. I can run a bath for you and you'll feel better afterwards. Maybe."

She looked up at him, as though his suggestion made perfect sense. She nodded.

George quickly extricated himself from her arms and made his escape into the bathroom. He closed the door and for a moment stood there, confused, very confused by this turn of events.

Okay, she's obviously upset and in shock because of what happened today. Brad doesn't seem to have given me the full story. I'm gonna have to tread real carefully here.

-----

He ran the bath, got some fresh towels and left them for her, then took a deep breath and went back to her. She was still standing where he'd left her. He took her arm and led her towards the bathroom.

"I left you some towels, a bathrobe and a t-shirt. Just throw your clothes in the laundry basket. Okay?"

She nodded.

-----

As soon as she'd closed the door George ran back into the living room, grabbed the phoned and dialed quickly.

"Come on. Come on," he growled impatiently.

"Green!" A voice snapped.

"Uh – hi, Alberta. It's me. George."

"Who?"

"Uh – Mason. Look, I'm sorry but I can't keep our date. Something's come up."

"Something's come up?! That's what you said when you made the date," she snarled.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You bastard! You'll pay for this!" She slammed the phone down.

George winced. Story of my life, he thought.

-----

George jumped in fright when Michelle came out of the bathroom wearing his t-shirt and bathrobe. She looked so sexy and he wanted her so badly.

"Feeling better?" George asked hopefully.

"No," she shook her head. "I need another drink."

What you really need is to get off home, George thought, but said nothing and just poured her the drink she wanted.

She gulped it down and held out the glass for another which he poured.

"I made up the bed in the spare room if you're serious about staying here tonight."

Michelle frowned. "Can't I stay with you?"

"Huh? No. I don't think that's wise."

Michelle's eyes narrowed and that angry look came back. "I thought you were supposed to be a red hot love machine?"

George brightened. Hey! I got a reputation! Bauer! Eat your heart out! He was all ready to give in and go for it until he remembered that she had a black belt in something painful.

"Uh – maybe later. Okay?"

Then she was curled up beside him on the couch and she started crying again so he put his arms around her and held her tight while she told him all that had happened. He moved quickly to the other end of the couch when she told him about the hotel and the release of the virus but came back beside her again when she told him she was immune. You'd better be, he thought.

-----

They sat there for hours, drinking and crying while she told him about being kidnapped by Stephen Saunders and how Tony exchanged Jane for her and was arrested for treason because of it. Treason! Wow!

And then it happened. Right there on his couch at about a couple of minutes to midnight. George felt it coming before he could do anything about it. He fell in love. Hopelessly. Completely. He was one hundred per cent head over heels in love with Michelle Dessler.

This was worse that being shot at. Worse than getting poisoned by plutonium. Worse than discovering you haven't been poisoned by plutonium and you're sitting in a plane with a big bomb about to detonate underneath you. Even more scary than facing Jack whenever he got that crazy, drugged up - 'I wanna kill someone and you'll do nicely, George'- look in his eye.

Shit! George frowned. How am I gonna get out of this one?

To be continued.


	8. Chapter 8 Eat Your heart Out Bobby Ewing...

Chapter 8 – Eat Your Heart Out Bobby Ewing!

For the next twenty years George Mason was a happy man. Or as happy as one could be considering the woman he loved wasn't able to love him back. She did try and she even came close, but George knew that Michelle's heart belonged to Tony and always would do. It didn't matter. Tony got sentenced to twenty years in federal prison and he got Michelle.

He worked for a couple more years and then retired, leaving the position as Director of CTU open for Michelle to take over.

Their life together was good, or as good as it could be and George learned to behave himself, except for his on again/off again dalliance with Kate Warner, which Michelle accepted. George was there for her during her worst moments – Tony's trial and sentencing and the realization that her marriage was on hold for the foreseeable future. George, like a faithful puppy, was always beside her. Okay, maybe he was a puppy who wanted to hump her leg every chance he got but, despite everything, he was her rock as she came to call him.

Me, a rock? Yeah, right! George honestly couldn't visualize himself as the strong, silent type but he knew better than to argue with the director of CTU. Besides, she still had that black belt lying around somewhere.

Their worst time was the two occasions every month when she went to visit her beloved husband. She'd come home to George, depressed and tearful, and no matter what he did he just couldn't cheer her up. His dry wit and sarcasm failed. Flowers failed. Offering to allow her to tie him up and have her wicked way with him definitely failed.

-----

It was at these moments he still missed Nina terribly. The bitch wasn't dead. She'd faked her death. Ryan Chappelle had faked his too, and they'd run off together. Worse, Nina had hacked into his secret bank account in Aruba and she was probably spending her way through his two hundred grand. The two hundred grand he'd worked hard to steal!

-----

But after a day or two Michelle would come round and she'd smile at him again, even laugh when he said something witty, and it'd be okay between them until her next prison visit.

One cloud loomed on George's near perfect horizon, though. He knew that some day Tony would be paroled and Michelle would be there waiting for him and he'd be the loser. A couple of times it crossed his mind that all he had to do was put in a report to the effect that, in his professional opinion, Almeida was still a serious threat to the country – he was convicted of treason after all - and should not be paroled. Ever. Under no circumstances. The man was dangerous. Probably a terrorist. But George knew that if Michelle got wind of it she'd kill him. Slowly and painfully. So, he wisely decided not to.

But until that day came everything in George's life was peachy. And it remained that way until Tony Almeida got paroled two days early and came to visit, bringing Jack Bauer along with him.

-----

George knew he was dying. The two gunshot wounds in his chest told him he was a goner. And, as his life slowly ebbed away, he knew the chances of finding a second parachute were slim.

Then he got a stiffie. Even on his deathbed he was still the greatest lover in the world!

A single tear rolled down his cheek and landed on the pillow where it mingled with the spreading blood stain. He wasn't crying for himself. Oh no, his grief was for the countless women in CTU, LA and beyond who would be heartbroken.

"I guess this is a violation of my parole terms," Tony said.

"Yeah," Jack replied. "And it'll probably set my rehab program back months."

"Don't worry about it guys," Brad Hammond said as he walked into the room. "A clean up crew is on the way."

George heard the voices and tried to move.

Hammond saw the movement and, quick as a flash, pulled out his gun.

BAM!

-----

Startled, George yelped in surprise and sat up in bed. Fuck! What was that?

He looked around the room. It was empty. He checked his chest for gunshot wounds. None.

I dreamt it! My God! What a nightmare!

He was shaking like a leaf as he climbed out of bed. Then he stopped and looked around the room. He frowned. It had all been a nightmare.

The phone call last night had disturbed him more than he realized.

George put some clothes on and tried not to panic. He knew deep down it was a premonition and he'd better do something about it before it all came horribly true.

He grabbed up a pen and notepad and scribbled a message.

_Gotta go. Bye._

He crumpled it up and threw it in the trash, then sat down and wrote a better one.

_Honey,  
It was great. We had a ball, but I know you love him more than you love me and now that he's coming back to you it's time for me to let you go. I once told you to find something that made you happy. And you did. You found him. I was just background noise._  
_Love you, George._

There, that was much better. He finished packing and called a cab then made coffee and drank it while he waited.

As he was sitting there he remembered the late night phone call he'd received.

She'd sounded desperate.

"George?"

"Yeah."

"It's me. Nina. I'm in Aruba. Can you come? I'm lonely. I miss you."

"Are you kidding? You ran off with Chappy! You stole my money!"

"Yeah, I know but... as soon as I gave him his clothes back he split with some blonde bimbo called Audrey. And I haven't touched the money, George. It's all here. Except for the twenty grand your son borrowed – "

"Stole. He stole it."

"Whatever. Honestly, it's still here, except for a couple of grand I used to buy some things - clothes, make up, a gun, a new identity. Y'know - everyday stuff."

"How much?" George sighed deeply. It was his money and he was the only one not spending it.

"Oh, not much. Just um - thirty-five grand. Aw, please George. I miss you. Please."

"Let me sleep on it," he'd said.

He did just that. That probably accounted for the nightmare and the realization that the last twenty years had been a dream. He was working too hard. That's what was wrong. That's what made his mind up.

-----

Epilogue.

There is a luxury villa in Aruba, and in it the former Director of CTU, Los Angeles, George Mason, lives there in happy bliss with the former terrorist and CTU mole, Nina Myers.

They are comfortably well off. George works two nights a week in a local beach bar - just for the fun of it, and Nina - well, a couple of times a year Nina brings in a little extra cash with a contract killing or two.

But most of the time they swim, they make love, and they watch the sunrise as they walk hand in hand along the water's edge. They have candlelit dinners and drink the finest of wines. Later, Nina ties him up and nibbles his ear and tells him she loves him and George is the happiest man alive.

The end.  
God, that was fun!  
Mandi Sheridan

January 2005.


End file.
